


Furry Little Problem

by Arionrhod, McKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arionrhod/pseuds/Arionrhod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: During the first full moon following his attack, Bill Weasley has some startling revelations.





	Furry Little Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005.

For the first time in his life, Bill Weasley felt completely helpless.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Pain he could handle, had handled for years as a part of his work. Sometimes it was necessary in lifting a curse to have to offer up blood as part of a ritualistic sacrifice; he always used his own, drawing it with a sharp dagger and watching the crimson drops with an air of professional detachment, intent only on his goal. Other times traps lay in wait for the unwary, falling stones or snapping steel jaws, or - worst of all - enchanted animal guardians who would attack with merciless fury and must be destroyed. That hurt, too, not only from the physical bites or bruises of the mindless attacks, but from the emotional agony of having to destroy an innocent creature that had never asked for its fate.

Now, in a twist of stunning irony, Bill was the creature in question.

Not that he expected to be destroyed. Far from it; he was being commanded to live, to go on, to continue despite what had happened. Despite the fact that Bill had no idea - nor did anyone else - about how deeply he might have been affected by Greyback's bite. He might be a werewolf, or he might not, or he might be something quite different entirely, something that might even be _worse_ , if that were possible. No one knew, and that feeling of facing the void of his own future with no anchor, no way to fight, no way to find an escape was what left him with a feeling of despair like he had never known.

The door opened, and Bill glanced up as Remus Lupin entered the small, bare, stone-walled room. The room where Bill had been allowed to retreat, alone, to wait out his uncertain fate where he wouldn't be a danger to others. Not that Bill blamed them for sending him here. No, he had wanted, _needed_ to face this where he wouldn't be any possible danger to his family, or to Fleur. He had, in fact, come here hours beforehand, despite the protests of his loved ones, so that he could gather himself, perhaps find a way to deal with what was to come, something he had not been allowed to do with his mum and Fleur and their relentless, almost annoying support. Telling him that everything would be fine. That nothing had changed. That _he_ hadn't changed, even though it was a lie so transparent as to be laughable. Bill _had_ changed, had been changed against his will, and the worst part of all was not knowing if the changes were going to be ones he could live with in the end.

"Bill?"

Remus' soft voice was undemanding, and Bill gazed at him, tense, looking at the unassuming man he had known for so many years. No one would ever know, looking at Remus Lupin's quiet, kind face that the man had a monster living inside of him, one that could savage and rip and kill, one that _reveled_ in it. The sight of that, the reminder that Remus was who he was despite the curse helped Bill to focus somewhat.

"Yeah. Have a seat, Remus, there's plenty of floor." The joke was somewhat flat, perhaps, but it was the best Bill could do. He knew why Remus was here, of course. Remus was the one person who could safely stay with Bill this night, the only one to whom Bill could pose no possible danger. 

Bill had only seen Remus once since Dumbledore's funeral, when he had come by the Burrow briefly the previous week to tell Bill that he would return for the full moon. "I'll be back, all right? Slughorn is making the Wolfsbane for me, so I'll be safe. I'll be with you that night, so that you don't have to be alone." Then Remus pressed his hand gently against Bill's shoulder, a gesture of support, before smiling and turning away.

At the time, Bill had almost resented the quiet assumption that he would want company, that he needed to be minded like a small child who was afraid of the dark. But in his heart he knew that he _didn't_ want to face this alone, not if he didn't have to. Remus, of all of them, understood best what Bill was going through. Remus didn't offer platitudes, or mouth phrases that were meant to be comforting but only served to remind Bill with every syllable that things were changed forever. Sometimes Bill wondered if the fussing his mother and Fleur did, their repeated insistence that he was still the _same_ , were really meant to comfort him, or were more to reassure themselves. 

"Thanks." Remus moved toward Bill, sitting down cross-legged on the floor a few feet away, facing Bill. The light of the westering sun shown through the single barred window directly onto Remus' face, and Bill could see the lines of strain and exhaustion on his friend's face. Remus closed his eyes, sighing, lifting his face to those last golden rays of light as though trying to absorb them through his skin.

"Been a rough week?" Bill asked, although he knew the answer to that. It was better to talk about Order business, though, to distract himself from what was to come, than to dwell on his own sense of helplessness in the face of the unknown. "I know there's been a lot going on, even though they've tried to keep it quiet around me, so that I can..." Bill almost said "recover", but he knew there was no recovery from lycanthropy, and besides, that reminded him of why he was here. "Anyway, it's been busy at the house, people coming and going and no end in sight."

"I've had better," Remus replied, opening his eyes and fixing Bill with a calm amber gaze. "But that isn't important right now, really. You've had better too, I'm sure."

Bill sighed, dropping his eyes from that too-knowing glance. "Yeah." He went silent, resting his chin on his drawn up knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and curling hunching down. "Can't remember one much worse."

Remus was silent for several long moments, and Bill finally looked up again. Remus was still gazing at him, and Bill tensed at the sympathy in Remus' eyes before relaxing, recognizing that sympathy was all that it was, not pity. Sympathy for someone having to go through what Remus had been through so many times before.

"This will probably be the worst night of your life, if you change," Remus said, voice low but matter-of-fact. "You know what to expect, if the curse has managed to take root completely. It will hurt. It will be horrible." Another pause, and a ghost of a smile passed Remus' lips. "But you won't remember it, at least. And I will keep you safe from hurting yourself."

"All right." Bill had known all this, but it was oddly comforting to hear Remus say that words, words that were practical, almost clinical in their detachment, but which were far more comforting than anything anyone else had said to Bill in the last week. Then something occurred to him, and he cleared his throat. "Won't we fight, Remus? If I change? I've read about dominance battles among werewolves, and I've heard that they can be very... aggressive."

"We won't fight." There was utter conviction in Remus' voice. "I will have my mind, after all. But since we are what is essentially brothers - having been bitten by the same werewolf - if you do change it is likely that your wolf will recognize me as pack, and as senior. If not... well, that is easily taken care of. It's time to get ready, Bill."

Bill was still processing what Remus said, when Remus slowly rose to his feet. With a start of surprise, Bill realized that it had gotten much darker suddenly, the light having faded from the high window and casting the room into dull shadow. "Get ready?" he asked, rising to his feet as well and facing Remus uncertainly. "How?"

"I prefer not to rip my clothing up when I change - since wolves and men are built rather differently, you know. So I am going to strip. I suggest that you do the same, but that is up to you - it won't change what happens, because your wolf will shred anything you happen to be wearing."

Remus' voice was still low, utterly factual like that of a teacher in a lecture hall. It would been funny to Bill, in normal times, that Remus could lecture about stripping in such a deadpan fashion, had not the stripping in question been prelude to something that was not going to be at all pleasant. 

Bill watched for a moment as Remus put actions to words, turning away and stepping out of his shoes, skimming his jumper over his head, then moving to unfasten his trousers. At that Bill looked away, turning toward the wall and toeing off his own shoes, unbuttoning and removing his shirt. When he was finally bare, even down to underpants, Bill turned around to face Remus once more.

Standing a few feet away, Remus was gazing back, and Bill's eyes widened in shock at his first sight of Remus' chest.

Greyback had mauled Bill's face, and Bill had avoided mirrors for the last several days just so that he wouldn't make himself sick. He knew that his good looks were gone, having been torn and mutilated by Greyback's teeth. Oh, there were things that magic could do, and Molly and Fleur had been adamant about the fact that they still loved Bill, and they would get the best magical assistance to restore him. But In all honesty it didn't bother Bill as much as it seemed to bother them; he had never been a vain man, and his aversion was far more to seeing the undeniable evidence of his uncertain future reflected from the glass.

But Remus' scars were larger and far more extensive. Claw marks crossed his pale chest in great profusion, parallel lines that racked from collarbone to hip in straight white lines. His arms were dotted with smaller scars, ones that looked like bite marks, and probably were. But the worst was Remus' left shoulder where a mass of lumpy white scar tissue gave evidence of where Greyback had bitten Remus as a child, the extent of the damage showing that it had probably been a miracle that Remus had survived at all.

"We match, eh?" Remus asked, and Bill swallowed as he returned his eyes to Remus' face, surprised to see that Remus was smiling. Bill knew that there was horror in his own gaze, and as much as he tried to hide it, wanted to turn away, he couldn't. Remus had been bitten, had been savaged, had been turned; the evidence of that was before him, and Bill found his own uncertainty beginning to slip into horror.

"Come here," Remus said in an odd tone, and Bill found himself obeying automatically without quite knowing why. He stopped in front of Remus, within arm's reach, and felt surprise when Remus clasped his hand and raised it to Remus' scarred shoulder, placing Bill's palm flat against the mangled flesh. "I don't think you're going to change, Bill. You weren't bitten at the full moon, and I think Greyback was trying to hurt you, not turn you. But if you do change, I'm here for you. You won't be alone. I'll help you."

Bill stared at Remus, not knowing what to say but curiously reassured by the conviction in Remus' voice. He had never been so close to Remus before, and he was reluctant now, for some unknown reason, to move away. "Thank you," he said finally. It seemed trite, inadequate somehow, but it was the only thought Bill could seem to summon up.

"No problem," Remus replied, then sighed, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. "Do you feel it, Bill? It's getting closer, and time is slowing down."

Blinking in surprise, Bill wondered for a moment what Remus was talking about, until he felt it, too. A pull, almost like that of a Portkey, centering in his chest and seeming to draw out slowly, causing Bill to gasp in surprise. And in that indrawn breath Bill felt himself changing slightly, almost imperceptibly, his senses becoming more acute, making him more aware of himself, his surroundings... and Remus.

It was all Bill could do not to moan, as everything seemed to become sharper, more focussed. He could feel his heartbeat, could _hear_ it pounding strongly in his chest like thunder before a storm. He could hear Remus', too, hear Remus' breathing, soft, steady exhalations that played in counterpoint to the beating of their hearts. But even more than that he could _smell_ Remus, was almost overwhelmed with a scent that was strange and yet, somehow, oddly familiar, calling to a part of himself Bill had never known existed, comforting but almost frightening in its allure.

Time did seem to slow down, and Bill couldn't have said if it was seconds, or minutes, or hours that they stood like that, Bill's hand on Remus' shoulder and Remus' hand covering it. Bill stared as though mesmerized, as Remus opened his eyes and gazed back, looking into Bill, looking _through_ him, reading all of Bill's fears and doubts and dreams, wide open as though Remus were a Legilimens and Bill utterly defenseless before him. 

But it didn't matter, a part of Bill's mind whispered. He could trust Remus with those secrets. Remus was here, Remus understood. Remus would make it all right, just as he had promised.

The feeling of drawing out continued, and Bill stopped breathing as he sensed a shift, not in himself but in Remus. It started in those golden eyes, the irises seeming to expand, widening as Bill seemed to fall into them. He was drowning in pools of amber, unable to move away, helpless but oddly not afraid of it anymore.

Then Remus hissed, and Bill felt the flesh under his hand seem to twist, a prickling sensation pressing against his skin that it took him a wild moment to identify as fur erupting through Remus' skin. There was agony on Remus' face, and Bill forgot to be afraid, forgot all about himself as he pulled Remus into his arms, sinking to the cold stone floor as Remus writhed, watching Remus' face contort with the effort of holding back a scream.

It was horrifying, and Bill wished he could do something, anything to take away that indescribable, unfathomable pain that he saw in Remus' eyes. Bill had never witnessed a lycanthrope changing, had never realized how horrible it must be to have one's body broken and bent and remade. He clasped Remus to him, holding him, trying to offer comfort and consolation. He found himself stroking Remus' body, murmuring the same nonsensical syllables of comfort that his mum had offered when Bill had been a child and had been hurt or afraid. Rocking back and forth, back and forth slowly as Remus twisted and broke and reformed, soft whimpers erupting from Remus' throat in reaction to a hurt so intense that it was almost beyond Bill's comprehension.

Then it was over, and silver light erupted through the window, falling onto two huddled forms and throwing their sharp silhouettes against the far wall. Silence fell, broken only by the soft sounds of breath of the slide of a hand, a hand that was still fully human, through soft, grey-brown fur that quite definitely was not. A hand that went still with shock as realization dawned in Bill's stunned, whirling mind. Remus had changed....

But Bill had not.

*~*~*

The next day dawned grey and gloomy, the weather matching Bill's mood. He was elated, of course, that he hadn't transformed, but what happened last night had unsettled him. One burden was lifted, but another had taken its place, and he didn't know what to do about it, not when he was still so confused. 

Perched on the edge of the bed, he reached out and smoothed a stray tendril of hair back from Remus' face, using the excuse to skim his fingertips along Remus' cheek, shivering at the pleasurable rasp of stubble. The small cottage they'd been sent to was sparsely furnished, but there was a bed at least, and when the moon set and Remus returned to human form -- that transformation just as torturous as the first -- Bill had covered Remus' limp, shivering body with a blanket and carried him into the bedroom. 

He hadn't looked. Well, not _really_. But there were things he couldn't avoid seeing before he draped the blanket over Remus, and it was impossible not to notice that Remus was far lighter than a man of his height and build should be. Not to mention his ribs were alarmingly visible, a mute testimony to too many missed meals. Bill felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to feed Remus and fatten him up, and he wondered if somehow he'd begun channeling his mother. 

Even in sleep, Remus' face was drawn and pale, and Bill marveled at the man's tenacity and independence that he did this alone month after month after month with no one to take care of him in the aftermath. Well, this month, he _did_ have someone, and Bill intended to funnel all the confusion and inappropriate feelings he was having into another direction: taking care of Remus. He was engaged to Fleur, after all, and Remus had been seeing Tonks, and what Bill was feeling had no place in either of their lives. 

He left Remus sleeping and went downstairs to check the larder and see if there was anything he could turn into a decent meal for them, or if he'd have to run out and get some groceries. Luckily, he wasn't exhausted himself; other than enhanced senses, he'd suffered no ill effects from the full moon, and he'd been able to sleep curled up on the floor in a nest of their clothes with Remus snuggled up against him. Bill had fallen asleep with one arm flung across Remus, fingers curled in Remus' coarse fur and Remus' wild scent filling his nose. That it had felt remarkably good and right wasn't something he wanted to contemplate. 

Either this cottage saw frequent use by other members of the Order, or someone had laid in some supplies for Bill's stay; the larder was well-stocked, and it just remained for Bill to figure out what he could come up with between what supplies were available and his own meagre cooking skills. In the end, he decided to keep it simple with roast beef sandwiches and thick vegetable soup. That way, Remus could still have something hot and nutritious even if his stomach couldn't handle something as heavy as a sandwich. 

The silence of the house was oppressive, broken only by the patter of rain on the roof, and once he didn't have food to focus his attention on, Bill's mind wandered back to the night before, to the sense of connection he'd felt with Remus. Was it because, as Remus had said, they were almost like brothers, or because they were both touched, albeit to different degrees, by the same curse? Or was it something else -- an understanding and recognition that ran far deeper than any curse? 

He was jolted out of his tumultuous thoughts by the sound of a bump from upstairs, and he hurried up to the bedroom only to find the covers thrown back and Remus gone. His heart lodged in his throat at the thought that Remus might be gone, but surely he was too weak to Apparate. 

Another bump, and Bill whirled to see Remus shuffling out of the bathroom down the hall, dressed except for his socks and shoes. He looked worse awake than he had asleep, dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks devoid of color, but he mustered a wan smile when he saw Bill. 

"Good morning," he said. "Or is it afternoon yet?" 

"It's a little after two o'clock," Bill replied, moving swiftly to Remus' side and sliding one arm around his waist. "You shouldn't be up," he admonished, all but wagging his finger as he scolded, and he led Remus straight back to the bedroom. "There's no need for you to do anything today except rest and recuperate." 

"Yes, mother." Remus shot him a wryly amused look, and Bill grinned sheepishly. 

"Sorry, I think hovering is in the genes." He helped Remus back into bed and tucked the blankets securely around him. "Are you hungry? I made some soup and sandwiches. I have a fresh pot of tea, too." 

"Tea would be lovely. Thank you," Remus replied, sinking back on the pillow with a soft sigh, and before he could stop himself, Bill reached out and smoothed Remus' hair back from his face tenderly. Remus' startled gaze flew to his face, and he could feel his cheeks burning with dull heat; it took great effort for him not to snatch his hand away, but he didn't want Remus to misread the gesture and take it as a rejection or revulsion. 

"Bill--"

"No, I know. Fleur. Tonks. It's just..." He trailed off, unable to articulate what he felt, how the memory of Remus' scent was driving him wild and making him feel as if he'd come home at the same time, any more than he was able to keep his hands from sifting through Remus' hair and stroking his wan cheeks. "Oh, hell." 

Impulse seized him, and he didn't bother trying to resist, swooping down and claiming Remus' mouth, a choked little cry rising in his throat at the feel of Remus' lips, soft and warm beneath his. Remus froze for an agonizing eternity, and Bill almost retreated, almost convinced he'd destroyed everything. 

And then Remus plunged his fingers into Bill's hair and parted his lips, latching onto Bill's mouth with a ferocity Bill never dreamed such a calm, quiet man was capable of. _It's always the quiet ones_ , Bill thought dazedly as he found control of the kiss being wrenched away from him, as Remus coaxed his lips apart and plundered his mouth, as he moaned and surrendered, helpless to resist the sensual onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue. 

Barely had he caught his breath after Remus finally let him go than it was stolen away again, this time by the rasp of Remus' tongue along the longest scar on his cheek. Remus' fingers tightened on the back of his head, holding him in place, but Bill had no thought of trying to escape. He bit his lip, tear stinging his eyes as Remus paid tender homage to each scar, and a tight knot that had constricted his chest for the past month loosened, unraveling at last. 

"My turn," he murmured, when Remus let his head fall back on the pillow at last, and he unfastened Remus' robes, parting the fabric until Remus' chest was laid bare. 

His hair spilled in a fiery curtain around his face as he bent his head and lapped at the scar on Remus' shoulder, covering every centimeter with delicate licks and kisses. Remus' hands roamed his back restlessly, plucking at his shirt, and he could hear soft moans that faded into choked noises that were almost like sobs; when Bill looked up, Remus' eyes were dry, but the distant haunted look was fading, and Remus mustered a shaky smile, making Bill wonder how long it had been since anyone had touched Remus like that, or if anyone ever had. 

"We should stop," he said, although there wasn't much conviction in his words, and he smoothed his palms down Remus' chest even as he spoke them. "You're exhausted, and..."

"Fleur and Tonks. Yes." Remus rested his hand on Bill's thigh, squeezing lightly. "But there's something here, Bill. Something I don't want to lose." 

So Remus felt it, too. Bill closed his eyes and breathed a quiet sigh of relief that it wasn't just him. When he opened his eyes and looked at Remus again, he felt a sense of calm stealing over him, and he brushed his fingers over Remus' nipple, satisfied at the way Remus hissed and arched against his hand in response. 

"Do you think if we indulge just this once, it'll go away?" he asked. "Once we've satisfied our curiosity, it might be over." 

"No." Remus' voice held no trace of doubt. "This isn't mere human attraction, Bill. This is beast calling to beast. My wolf wants you, and it won't be satisfied with one little taste. It wants you -- all of you -- completely." 

Bill had the vague thought that Remus' words probably ought to make him run screaming from the room in shock, horror, and disgust, but all he wanted to do was roll onto his back, bare his throat, and give the wolf what it wanted. And if he did that, the engagement was off. Veela or not, he doubted Fleur could ever compare to the wolf, especially when the darkness within him longed to be claimed with blood and sweat and seed, the most primal binding elements of all. 

He could get up and leave now. He could fasten Remus' robes, tuck him in, and walk out, and when he returned with tea and soup, Remus wouldn't speak of what had passed between them. It would be put aside, not forgotten, but never acknowledged again except by the flare of heat neither of them would be able to keep from rising in their eyes when they looked at each other. He could go back to his normal life, marry Fleur, and never give in to the wildness within him. He could remain safe. 

But the world wasn't a safe place, especially now, and life was too brief and precious to waste on playing it safe. 

Rising to his feet, he began unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers, his gaze never leaving Remus' as he stripped away his clothes, baring both body and heart to Remus without hesitation. Remus watched, wide-eyed, drinking in the sight with a heat that scorched Bill's flesh, making Bill all the more eager to let Remus do more than just look. 

He bent and retrieved his wand from the pile of clothes and, tapping his hip, murmured the charms that would stretch and prepare him. Dropping his wand, he yanked back the covers and pushed up Remus' robes, and Remus obligingly lifted his hips so Bill could strip away his underpants, his cock bobbing free, already hard and leaking, and Bill practically salivated at the sight. 

"I know you're tired." Bill climbed onto the bed and straddled Remus' hips, bending to brush his mouth against Remus' as his hands roamed Remus' chest, pinching and tweaking his nipples, caressing the jut of his ribs. "Let me take care of you." 

Whatever response Remus intended to make was lost in a moan when Bill curled his fingers around the base of Remus' cock, guiding him as Bill rose onto his knees, positioned himself, and then sank down slowly, so slowly, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back as Remus filled him. Remus' hands stole to his waist, clutching tightly as Remus lifted his hips, thrusting, seating himself within Bill completely, and Bill gasped, blood pounding in his ears as he realized that last little push had sealed his fate. There was no going back now. 

He moaned his surrender, his body and heart full to bursting. "Whatever you want." The words were a whisper that filled the room. "I'm yours." 

Without warning, he found himself on his back, Remus crouching over him, eyes glowing with a feral light, and Bill spread his legs wide, opening and offering himself to the wolf, the wildness in him scrabbling for release. 

"Mine." Remus' voice was a throaty growl as he drove into Bill, thrusting, pounding, claiming, punctuated by the slap of flesh against flesh and the rhythmic creak of the bed, its headboard knocking against the wall with the force of each thrust. 

Bending his knees, Bill braced his feet on the mattress, letting his legs fall open as he rocked his hips, meeting and matching the relentless rhythm, and he wound his arms around Remus, nails digging into Remus' shoulder blades as need and hunger swept over him. Lifting his head, he fastened his teeth on Remus' neck, biting, worrying the skin, and Remus howled and thrust and came, spilling his seed within Bill's welcoming body as his blood spilled on Bill's ravenous tongue. 

And then Remus eased out of him, but before he had time to feel bereft at the loss, Remus' mouth was on him, rosy lips closing around his cock, tongue lapping and swirling, and Remus slid two slender fingers inside him, slick with lube and Remus' own emission, stroking the sensitive gland within until Bill was seeing stars, on the verge of howling himself. Pleasure coiled within him, intense to the point of aching pain, and he needed to let go, needed to fuck Remus' mouth, and when Remus nudged his hips as if urging him on, he gave himself over to the wild ecstasy building within him, fisting one hand in Remus' hair and thrusting, moaning, whimpering, _needing_ until the tension crested and broke, and he shouted Remus' name, babbling "love" and "wolf" and "mine" until his body went limp against the mattress. 

Crawling up the bed, Remus flopped down beside him, his skin pale and drenched in sweat; he looked drained, and Bill felt a pang of remorse until he saw the peace in Remus' eyes and the sweet curve of his smile. "Whatever happens after we leave here, this is ours," Remus murmured, tracing the length of Bill's nose with his forefinger. 

"I can't go back to Fleur." Bill caught Remus' hand and pressed a fervent kiss to the palm. 

"Your mother will kill me, you know." 

"I'll handle her. It'll be all right." He gazed at Remus, worry clouding his eyes. "What about Tonks?" 

"I'm going to feel like a right bastard for breaking her heart," Remus said softly, stroking Bill's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "But I can't go back to her either. I need this. I need you." 

"You have me." Bill leaned close and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now go to sleep before I start feeling so guilty for wearing you out that I don't do it again when you wake up." 

Chuckling drowsily, Remus closed his eyes and nestled close, and Bill curled around him protectively, not caring how sticky and sweaty they both were. They could clean up later. Right now, the house was silent and still and empty, and they had nothing to worry about except each other. That would change as soon as they left the haven they'd found here, but in this moment, they were home.


End file.
